


see the light

by varsiity



Category: Town of Salem (Video Game)
Genre: Arson, Bad Writing, Death, Emotional Baggage, Italian Mafia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Original Character Death(s), Pyromania, Suicidal Thoughts, Tragic Romance, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, i need help naming characters, the relationship is actually minimally fucked up compared to how it could be, uhhhhhhh, why isn't there a public execution tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-31 22:51:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10909095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varsiity/pseuds/varsiity
Summary: What is a pyromaniac but an artist who uses a different medium? Gasoline is a fine paint, and the Arsonist will make sure that his victims die in splendor.





	see the light

This was it.

Gasoline, everywhere, and it’s almost fucking beautiful to Auden, the way it forms glimmering puddles on the hardwood floor and the way the curtains sag with the weight of it - the Mayor’s house, just waiting to go up in flames, and that’s what it will do soon enough. But first, he will wait. First, he will make sure half the houses in town were painted with accelerant just like this one. And then, then, would come the skritch of the match and the rush of the inferno.

He started out small, eight years old and stealing his father’s matchboxes just to watch the tiny pinprick of light dance on the end of the stick. From there, it grew and grew. Nowadays, the need was greater, deeper, more furious. Nowadays, it was a creature with needle-sharp teeth and an insatiable hunger that lived inside of his chest. Nowadays, it was always starving, and a merry bonfire was never enough to temporarily quench its need.

Some nights, it screams. Those are the nights when he hasn’t set a fire in weeks and his fingers itch with a desire he can’t put into words. Some nights, it yells at him, in garbled fragments of words and images that flash through his head. He lies awake in agony as his hands twitch and he can barely pull them away from the lighter in his nightstand drawer. It is a need, not simply a desire, not just the dangerous experiments of a young child who doesn’t know better. It’s his drug. It’s his drug, and the withdrawal is as painful as an addict being denied his poison.

But when the time finally comes, it’s all worth it.

There’s no headier rush than the one that comes with the sharp click of a lighter. There’s nothing more beautiful than the sight of a fire against the night sky, flames two stories high that burst out of the windows and reach up into the heavens. He’ll regret it later, like Auden always does, when what he’s done truly reaches him, but in the heat of the moment, it’s better than getting high.

Sometimes, when it’s windy, the cinders and ash blow for miles around. On those nights, Auden stands there under the light of the moon and watches the ruins. The wind brings new air and new dawn. The wind washes away the smell of burned flesh and destruction. The wind musses up his hair, flings the embers clear across town, brushes soot into his face and onto his clothing until the sky begins to lighten and the Arsonist trudges home with a new spring in his step and a clear head for once. It is beautiful, the wreckage. 

Townspeople, so fickle and foolishly optimistic, but even they know what to expect when they find gasoline splashed across their front door in messy swirls. The Arsonist watches their hysteria and laughs to himself. They’re all going to die eventually, and so will he, when a Werewolf smartens up enough to direct their claws in his direction or when a Mayor figures out who’s been setting all those fires. But Auden won’t die now. They’re too busy mistakenly lynching the BodyGuard to bother with him. And soon there won’t be enough of them left to lynch anyone.

He doesn’t hate the townies. He harbors no delusions about their kindness. A Mafioso taught him better, many years ago, when he had first been introduced to the games. A Mafioso with dark hair and olive skin, who had aimed a revolver at Auden’s head during their first meeting and then laughed when the weapon jammed. A Mafioso who understood, immediately, understood better than any Serial Killer or Executioner that Auden had ever met, understood about the urge to burn and the need to ruin others for fear that otherwise he would turn to ruining himself. 

He had fallen in love with that Mafioso, maybe, if love worked so quickly and so potently. He wasn’t sure. Maybe he was just infatuated with the Mafioso’s beautiful eyes and blunt way of speaking and silent acceptance of the risks his job entailed. Infatuation and love both ended badly, so Auden saw no need to distinguish between the two. He had cared about the Mafioso. He had cared until the very end. And what had that gotten him?

It was better to distance himself, after that, because it wasn’t worth it. He had learned that well enough. The delicious feelings, the affection, the thrill of having someone to confide in and trust wasn’t worth the heartbreak at the end. Heartbreak always came with these things. It had come for the Arsonist, when the Mafioso he had grown to love had silently made his way to the lynching stand and stood there silently, almost proudly, head held high even as the stool was shoved out from underneath his feet and the rope had finished him off.

The Mafioso’s eyes had locked on Auden’s in that final second, and something inside of Auden had shattered.

Maybe he should hate the townies, after what they did, but it was necessary for them to survive. It never could have lasted, anyway. A Mafioso and an Arsonist was an impossible pair. One of them would have had to die in the end. It was better for someone else to finish it. The townspeople will pay for their crimes with their own lives, but there is no malice in the Arsonist’s actions, no fury behind his eyes as he ignites. There is nothing. Perhaps anger would be better.

The thing inside of Auden was the only motivation he needed, and he fed it with every person whose skin he scorched, even though it would never be truly satisfied until the world was a charred husk. And even then, it would urge him to keep going. Set fire to others, it whispered, unless he wanted to set fire to himself.

Maybe one day he would.

**Author's Note:**

> both of my works for this fandom have been like this (no dialogue, annoying writing style) and i'm sorry for what i've done. if you have a second to leave a comment and tell me how i'm doing with this whole writing thing, that would be much appreciated!! i might just continue doing these for all of the neutral roles because i find them interesting.


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